to the 1972 Olympics in Munich.
Today, at sixty, the towering Vitaly Rankov fought a daily battle to “break seven”—the young oarsman’s mantra—and even this morning, fighting through the final “yards” on his stationary machine in his basement, he hit the 2,000-meter line in 6:58. Nearly killed him. But here he was.
“ Dobraye utra —good morning, Admiral,” greeted the President of all the Russians.
“Sir,” replied Vitaly sharply, pushing his great shock of gray curly hair off his forehead. He took the chair left vacant on the President’s right and nodded to the other three Ministers, all of whom he knew relatively well.
“As I mentioned to you on the telephone,” said the President, “this is a matter of the utmost secrecy. Nonetheless, our Intelligence Service leads us to believe the forces of Argentina are preparing to launch another attack on the Falkland Islands, some twenty-eight years, I believe, after their last disastrous attempt.”
This was of course the biggest single lie the President had told this week, but it was only Monday, and it was essentially kids’ stuff compared with his record last week.
As it happened, the young Lieutenant Commander Rankov had received his first command, of a missile frigate, back in 1982. And like all of his colleagues he had watched with rapt fascination as the Royal Navy fought that epic sea battle off the Falkland Islands, during which they lost seven warships, including two Type-42 destroyers. Two remain on the bottom of the ocean; the other, HMS Glasgow , took a bomb amidships, straight through her hull and out the other side.
Admiral Rankov, as it happened, knew a great deal about that war in the South Atlantic. And he looked quizzically at the President. Then he said sternly, “I’m not sure the result would be the same today, sir. The British have been very, very shortsighted about their war-fighting capability. The Argentinians may be successful this time.”
The President nodded, and continued, “At present we are only discussing a sudden, preemptive strike, which would certainly overrun the very flimsy British defenses of the islands. But I would like your opinions upon the likely outcome if the British again sailed south with the intention of blasting the Argentinians off their territory.”
“Sir, that is a very complicated question. Mainly because we do not know the relative strength of the Argentinian fleet, nor its land forces. However, we do know they are quite formidable in the air.”
“Vitaly, if I may take a worst-case scenario,” said the President. “The Argentinians occupy the islands, and the airfields. Their Marines are in tight control. There is no internal resistance. The British send down an aircraft carrier packed with fighter-bombers and whatever guided-missile frigates and destroyers they have left, okay? Who wins?”
“Sir, all battles depend to a large degree on the will and brilliance of the overall commanders. In 1982 that Royal Navy Admiral outsmarted them, held his nerve, made no real mistakes, and in the end clobbered them. He was the first Admiral whose fleet ever defeated an Air Force. Knocked out more than seventy Argentina fighter-bombers.”
“Yes. I read that during the weekend,” mused the President. “But, Vitaly, could you put your finger on perhaps one single aspect of the war at sea that cost the Argentinians victory? One critical path along which they failed?”
Admiral Rankov pondered the question. He was silent for a few moments, and then said, “Sir, the critical path for the Argentinians was always simple: take out either of the Royal Navy carriers, before they have established an airfield ashore, and the operation is over. You always need two decks in case one goes out of action even for a couple of hours—otherwise you lose all the aircraft you have in the air.”
“Why so important?”
“Because that would have robbed the British land forces of adequate air cover. That
Today, at sixty, the towering Vitaly Rankov fought a daily battle to “break seven”—the young oarsman’s mantra—and even this morning, fighting through the final “yards” on his stationary machine in his basement, he hit the 2,000-meter line in 6:58. Nearly killed him. But here he was.
“ Dobraye utra —good morning, Admiral,” greeted the President of all the Russians.
“Sir,” replied Vitaly sharply, pushing his great shock of gray curly hair off his forehead. He took the chair left vacant on the President’s right and nodded to the other three Ministers, all of whom he knew relatively well.
“As I mentioned to you on the telephone,” said the President, “this is a matter of the utmost secrecy. Nonetheless, our Intelligence Service leads us to believe the forces of Argentina are preparing to launch another attack on the Falkland Islands, some twenty-eight years, I believe, after their last disastrous attempt.”
This was of course the biggest single lie the President had told this week, but it was only Monday, and it was essentially kids’ stuff compared with his record last week.
As it happened, the young Lieutenant Commander Rankov had received his first command, of a missile frigate, back in 1982. And like all of his colleagues he had watched with rapt fascination as the Royal Navy fought that epic sea battle off the Falkland Islands, during which they lost seven warships, including two Type-42 destroyers. Two remain on the bottom of the ocean; the other, HMS Glasgow , took a bomb amidships, straight through her hull and out the other side.
Admiral Rankov, as it happened, knew a great deal about that war in the South Atlantic. And he looked quizzically at the President. Then he said sternly, “I’m not sure the result would be the same today, sir. The British have been very, very shortsighted about their war-fighting capability. The Argentinians may be successful this time.”
The President nodded, and continued, “At present we are only discussing a sudden, preemptive strike, which would certainly overrun the very flimsy British defenses of the islands. But I would like your opinions upon the likely outcome if the British again sailed south with the intention of blasting the Argentinians off their territory.”
“Sir, that is a very complicated question. Mainly because we do not know the relative strength of the Argentinian fleet, nor its land forces. However, we do know they are quite formidable in the air.”
“Vitaly, if I may take a worst-case scenario,” said the President. “The Argentinians occupy the islands, and the airfields. Their Marines are in tight control. There is no internal resistance. The British send down an aircraft carrier packed with fighter-bombers and whatever guided-missile frigates and destroyers they have left, okay? Who wins?”
“Sir, all battles depend to a large degree on the will and brilliance of the overall commanders. In 1982 that Royal Navy Admiral outsmarted them, held his nerve, made no real mistakes, and in the end clobbered them. He was the first Admiral whose fleet ever defeated an Air Force. Knocked out more than seventy Argentina fighter-bombers.”
“Yes. I read that during the weekend,” mused the President. “But, Vitaly, could you put your finger on perhaps one single aspect of the war at sea that cost the Argentinians victory? One critical path along which they failed?”
Admiral Rankov pondered the question. He was silent for a few moments, and then said, “Sir, the critical path for the Argentinians was always simple: take out either of the Royal Navy carriers, before they have established an airfield ashore, and the operation is over. You always need two decks in case one goes out of action even for a couple of hours—otherwise you lose all the aircraft you have in the air.”
“Why so important?”
“Because that would have robbed the British land forces of adequate air cover. That
Similar Books
